Memories and despair
by DaniaShan
Summary: What happens to Darren immediately after Mr.Crepsley's death? Will he manage to cry? And if so...how?


**_- Memories and Despair -_ **

_ I let myself fall heavily on the bed. I was really too tired to do whatever, even covering myself, so I laid there for a little while, on my stomach, with an arm that was swinging in the air, my face sunk in the cushion, trying to rest.  
"Hey, Darren..." someone whispered to me, after an indefinable time. I opened lazily an eye, and I saw the familiar Mr.Crepsley's profile, with his usual carrot-colour wisp, his deep and wise eyes, and the face scarred by the experience. At least, I thought to see him, to recognize him. I opened my other eye and the shadows immediately faded away, they became more distinct, and they brought me back to the reality, to the harsh, tragic reality...  
Mr.Crepsley is no more...he was murdered in the most horrible and ignoble way for a vampire, staked and burnt alive, down there in the Cavern of Retribution.  
I had hoped for a moment that it were only an horrible nightmare, but unfortunately it wasn't so. It would have been marvellous.  
While I was recovering slowly consciousness about what had happened, and I was waking up from that state of daze and tiredness, I slowly woke up, little by little, also the pain, the sadness, the sorrow, like many ardent pins in my heart. All together, pityless and cruel. I expected to see a tear, at last, almost one, gliding along my cheeks, but it wasn't so. My eyes were totally dry, there was nothing similar even vaguely to a tear.  
On the contrary, I felt burning with heat, as if I were feeling a pain so heavy that I wasn't able to give free play to it. Or maybe, what I was feeling was only thirst for revenge? The feeling Mr.Crepsley had recommended me to beware of , because it would have made me insane and cruel maybe even more than Steve? Would I have become a monster like him, if I had listened to that interior voice, so insistent, that was suggesting me to run out there and to avenge Mr.Crepsley , killing his murderer? Why didn't I manage to cry? I was really becoming so cold, even in front of something so terrible, or the pain was simply too much? How many questions...it would have been wonderful having still Mr.Crepsley close by me. So wise, he seemed having always an answer for each curiosity of mine, even the strangest! So, despite I perfectly knew that I wouldn't have found him, I couldn't stop myself from having a look, looking for him with the glance. I still clinged to a last, tenuous hope that I were still dreaming, and that this nightmare would have ended soon. But even that vanished, as soon as I saw who was really beside me. Groaning, I turned to Vancha. It was he that was waking me up slowly, that came near the bed, not Mr.Crepsley. Maybe before I mistook him for him because during the fighting of shortly before he burnt, in addiction to most of his body, almost all his hair, and now only a few were still on his head, instead of his usual mop. Now that I was wide-awake, I perfectly understood that those few locks, bristly and singed, can't be Mr.Crepsley's ones. I groaned again, and I sighed with disappointment. Why didn't I manage to accept it? Why did I cling to hopes that didn't exist yet? And why that implacable fire carried on burning, like an hungry wild beast, inside me?  
Mr.Crepsley...Mr.Crepsley...  
Since, because of a twist of fate, I had become his assistant, and I had followed him around the world, he was always by my side. Always. He had never abandoned me, not even when because of a tragic misunderstanding I tried to kill him, or when I took it into my head to not drink human blood, for no reason on the Earth.  
A bitter smile appearead on my face, thinking again about how much that obstinacy of mine seemed stupid to me now. I thought again about all the times he had encouraged me, he was very close to me in all the senses, and I felt a gush of nostalgia going up along my chest, hot, intense, and, in a sense, reassuring. I thought again about all the nights passed together, under the stars, or travelling all over around, about the many advices he had given me, about that his charm so special, about that his way to be fond of me so discreet, but sincere. He was just like a new father, for me. I wondered what would have become of me without him, where I would have been at that moment, how would I have managed to survive in this new world, dark and murky, and I understood how much I owed him. It occurred to me our first flight together, our adventures at the Vampire Mountain and all the battles fought together. The memories cropped up again in my mind, crowding themselves on each other, like many flashs of imaginary cameras. I felt a deep emotion inside me, but, also this time, not even a tear. Why didn't I manage to cry? - I asked myself once again. It would be wonderful, but something was keeping me from doing that. However sad I were, I didn't manage to express my emotion. Eventually, grumbling and still stiff because of the uncomfortable position I had slept in, I sat on the bed, and I looked around. Unconsciously, my eyes carried on looking for Mr.Crepsley, they expected to see him reappear at any moment. I went without even realising I was scared, casting around nervous glances. It seemed like seeing him again after a while, then Vancha's face turned into his again. It was a matter of a moment, then everything went back like before, the illusion went off like it had arrived. Why did my eyes carry on doing funny things to me? Disconsolate, I bowed my head with a sigh, and I covered my face with my hands and preyed to discouragement. I groaned again, and I started to sob quietly, the sound muffled by hands' spans.  
"Darren?" someone repeated. I parted my fingers, and I saw again Vancha.  
"Va...Vancha..." I answered. My voice was broken by the emotion, by the interior suffering I carried on feeling, by the sobs.  
"It's me, Darren...it's all right." he answered. Althought he tried hard speaking normally, I heard clearly a touch of sadness in the tone of his voice.  
"It isn't all right at all, you know..." I answered, sourly. I sobbed again. Sobs without tears.  
"Of course...unfortunately." he confirmed. "It's useless pretending that it's so...and..."  
Vancha stopped speaking. The tone of his voice became fainter, and something of glossy and shiny appeared near his eyes, and took to go down quickly along his cheeks.  
Tears! Glossy tears, drops of suffering and pain. He started to sob too, he came up to me and, without a word, we hugged each other in an hearty hug. A hug of consolation, of mutual sympathy. When we were face to face, his tears weted my face, tepid and reassuring. For a moment, I believed that some of those tears were mine, that I had joined to his pain, starting to cry too, but once again nothing. I tried even to screw up my eyes, but in vain. When we broke loose, I addressed him a sad glance, and I asked: "Why didn't I manage to cry? I'm afraid of myself...Have I really become so insensitive?"  
"Definitely not!" he immediately answered, surprised by my question. "I feel you're sad as much as me and maybe even more, the tears aren't certainly the only way to manifest it. Don't even think about it, Darren. The pain you're feeling is too much, probably never felt before. So, your body doesn't know how to react, how to face up to so much pain. I'm sure you'll cry soon, don't worry."  
"Perhaps..." I answered, not too convinced, and I bended my head, immersing myself again in the river of memories, with a groan. Vancha then decided that it was better leaving me alone with my pain, and he left the room without adding anything else. What would I have done now? Would I have been able to, without Mr.Crepsley, to continue this difficul battle? Or my rashness, so many times curbed just in time, would have lead me to a terrible destiny? what has become of him? Does a paradise really exist...or, after the life - vampiric or not - we're doomed to die for ever? These other worries were added to the pain I already felt, like heavy palls on my head. It occurred to me many other people I used to love, now are dead...their faces flashed in front of me at an incredible speedness...Sam...Kurda...Gavner...Arra...who knows, maybe just at that moment they were watching me, maybe blissful lain on a cloud, like angels, with an halo on their heads, looking at me sat on a couch and deep in my gloomy thought, or maybe...no, I don't want even to think about it.  
The train of thoughts continued flowing, unstoppable, almost forcefully, I wasn't able to stop it...and, among the flashs of experienced experiences, suddenly an image of my family appeared in front of me. A photo, sharp and clean. Me, as a child, with a mischievous smile on my face, my parents and...Annie. Happy, smiling, at the beach. Me with a football ball raised over my head, with a victorius and radiant expression. That photo...that photo...! That was...it! Guided by an uncontrollable emotion, by a renewed energy, I got up again from the bed, and I tried to look for my bag, the one that used to be Sam's once. After I had looked around for a little time, I found it: Vancha had put it near a wooden table, in a corner. I pulled away the little worn rope that was keeping it closed, I thrusted a hand in it, and, recognizing the photo by touch, I took it out. Here it is, exactly like I remember it, in every way. A bit creased in a corner , but intact, even after so much time. It was there...in front of me. I peered intensly at it for a long time, looking at the expression of light-heartedness on my face and on Annie's one...and I felt again an intense warmth wrap me slowly. A different heat, this time. Not of hatred, not of pain...not, it was much more similar to a sensation of consolation, of warmth, to a caress on my heart. I clasped the photo, with kindess, to not lacerate it, not forgetting how much my new half-vampire nails were sharp, and I raised it over my face. Doing it, I couldn't help noticing the scars on my fingertips. Seemingly, they were only some parts of my skin a little fairer, but for me they used to symbolize the beginning of a new life. The indelible sign of how the destiny had influenced my existence, changing it for ever, in a way so dramatic. And, before I noticed that, on one of the fingers fell something of warm and humid. My upper lip started to shake, and it opened slightly in a noisy sob. Another tear fell nearly immediately inside it, followed straightaway by another, but that fell a little after on the photo, making it wet. Kindly, I took it away with a finger, because it didn't spoil the photo, and then, hugging it to my heart, I trew again myself on the bed, holding tightly the cushion, and I bursted into tears._

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End file.
